


Further Indiscretions

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Anal Play, Blindfolds, Confessions, Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, Erotica, F/M, Light Bondage, Massage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Pegging, Pool Sex, Pool Table Sex, Sex Toys, Sex in a Car, Sharing a Bed, Strap-Ons, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4716272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once they realize they're tired of being discreet, it's a slippery slope. (Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4713059">Indiscretions</a>. Very, <i>very</i> dirty.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Previously

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).



> For all the lovely people who asked for a prequel/sequel to “Indiscretions,” and most particularly for deedeeinjf, because the more smut I write, the less sadness she writes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne is witness to a very private moment of Jack's.

“Phryne...”

The lady in question was not pleased to hear her name being softly murmured from somewhere beside her left ear, as she was at that moment deeply and happily asleep, the only time in that entire day that she had been particularly happy. 

“Phryne... _Phryne_...”

“Mmm?” Phryne dragged her head up from its cozy place among the pillows and blinked to clear the shadows from her eyes. It didn’t work. In fact, her bedroom was completely dark. 

The thought wafted through her bleary semi-conscious brain that her companion of the night apparently talked in his sleep. Or moaned in his sleep. 

She groaned and prepared to kick What’s-his-name to shut him up... and then she abruptly remembered what his name was. 

Phryne pushed up quickly on her hands. “Jack?” she whispered. “Are you all right?” She couldn't see his face, but his silhouette in the dim light from the street lamps outside was clear enough. He was tense under the blankets, trembling. “Jack?” She twisted onto her side and reached out carefully to feel his forehead. Her first thought was that he was about to vomit; Jack could match her drink for drink on most evenings, but four whiskey cocktails in quick succession (according to Mr. Butler) and then a sherry glassful of her father’s nerve tonic, all on an empty stomach, would undo a man made of sterner stuff than Jack Robinson, if such a man existed. 

She gently bumped her fingers against the side of his head and smoothed her hand through his hair. “Jack darling?”

“Oh, _Phryne_...” His legs twitched beneath the blankets, and the shoulder and arm beside Phryne tensed and slacked. 

Phryne blinked. “Oh dear,” she murmured, fighting a smile. _So that’s what’s happening. The poor man._ She pressed a gentle kiss to his hair, eliciting a tiny whimper, and then snuggled down next to him, stroking his arm. 

“Phryne...”

“Yes, Jack.”

“Phryne... Oh God... Phryne, yes... so good...”

She closed her eyes and tried to guess exactly what he was seeing. She wouldn’t have dreamed of touching him when he was in such a state, but she had an active imagination of her own. Was he picturing her with her hands around his not-at-all-insubstantial manhood? From what she had seen when she undressed him, she would _definitely_ need both hands... Or perhaps she was using her mouth?

Absently, Phryne flicked her tongue over her lips and hummed thoughtfully. 

“Oh, Jesus _fuck_ , Phryne...”

 _Definitely my mouth. And speaking of mouths, Jack Robinson, yours is delightfully filthy..._ But oh, to have the smooth dark head of his cock, slick with pre-cum and spit, sliding between her lips and over her tongue... it was a very pleasing idea. She dipped her head and hummed gently in his ear. 

“God, Phryne, I'm... please... let me, _please_...”

She flicked his earlobe with the tip of her tongue and then bit it softly. “Come for me, Jack.”

Jack’s body went rigid against her as his climax forced the breath from his body. “Oh God, Phryne... Oh my God...” 

Smiling sleepily, Phryne threw an arm over his chest and nestled her face in the little hollow between his head and shoulder. “All right now, darling?”

“Mmm... good... love you, Phryne...”

A year ago, a man saying he loved her would have sent Phryne into damage control mode. It was nothing, of course, just a post-coital platitude, and an unconscious one at that. But then, it was also Jack. 

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and promised herself that she would be dressed and out of the room before he woke. “I love you, too. Sleep well, darling.”


	2. Subsequently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack participates in a private moment of Phryne's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, it’s ~~three~~ four chapters now! Third chapter will be happy make-up smut. It will also be up tonight; it’s a bit too smutty to post from the office.

Phryne eyed her unsung hero with ardent intention over the rim of her glass. They were back to normal after unintended ruckus she had caused by dallying with Lyle Compton. Back to their usual steady footing of mutual respect, mutual fondness, mutual exasperation, and mutual sexual frustration (because contrary to how it had looked at the air field, she and Compton hadn’t gotten _that_ far).

Time for one of those mutual states to be shaken up a bit.

“How many lovers have you had in your life, Jack?” she asked, for all the world like the thought had only at that moment occurred to her. 

He took an extra second or two to swallow his mouthful of whiskey. “Not nearly as many as you, Miss Fisher,” he replied, diplomatically.

“So not just your former wife, then.”

“No.” The word slipped out before Jack could stop it.

Phryne ignored his discomfort and continue on blithely. “I was only wondering if any of them had happened to mention to you that you talk in your sleep.”

He drew himself up to his very tallest. “I do not.”

“You do. You were talking up a storm the night you slept in my bed.”

“And how would you—“ Jack stopped short. “Oh God, please tell me you didn’t…”

“‘Didn’t’ what? You were in _my_ bed, Jack Robinson, and I was exhausted. Where was I supposed to sleep? My father was in the guest room and Jane’s bed is too small for my liking.” She took a sip and sparkled at him. “It was all very proper, I promise. I stayed on my side of the bed, and I even had a nightie on.”

“Thank goodness for small mercies.” Jack cleared his throat gruffly and tried to look anywhere but at Phryne. 

She smiled and took pity on him. “You’re blushing, Inspector,” she teased gently. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Miss Fisher, I… have… I seem to _recall_ certain… indecencies I believe I may have committed while sleeping off my overindulgence, that night.” He set his drink down and dug his fingertips into his eyelids. “What exactly was I saying?”

Phryne carefully suppressed a smile. “My name. Repeatedly.”

“…Oh, hell.”

“There was also a variety of very colourful expressions. Colourful and… explicit.”

Jack seemed to shrink in on himself slightly. Phryne rose from her chair and approached him, reaching out a hand to place lightly on his upper arm. “You were dreaming of me, Jack,” she murmured, “and touching yourself.”

“…I’m sorry, I am so, so sorry…”

Gently she pried his hands away from his face. “Come and sit down,” she murmured. She coaxed him over to the lounge and made him sit, and then cuddled up beside him, pressing her thigh to his and leaning her head on his shoulder. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. I was deeply flattered.”

“You should have woken me.”

“I considered it,” she lied. “But with the state you were in, I was more worried you would wake up disoriented, try to leave, and fall down the stairs, than I was about you taking yourself in hand in my bed. It’s probably the most innocent thing anyone’s ever done in my bed,” she teased, “apart from sleep.”

“‘I cannot see how sleeping should offend,’” Jack said huskily, quoting the Bard more from habit than intent, and gingerly seeking out her hand and twining his fingers with it. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Not in the least.” Phryne smiled at the memory. “I’m only sorry you weren’t awake and in your right mind. I would have loved to help you.”

“Help me?”

“Well, more than I did. I wanted so desperately to touch you, Jack… but I couldn’t.”

“Then… what did you do?”

She glanced up at him. “You don’t recall?”

“I recall a lot of things about that night,” he said soberly, his eyes beginning to darken. “But I thought it was all a dream.”

“Ah.” She resumed her pillow against his arm. “I didn’t do much. I pressed against your arm… I stroked your hair… I kissed your forehead.” She hummed in satisfaction. “I bit your ear.”

“I remember that. Distinctly,” Jack rumbled. “I also,” he said, taking a deep breath, “remember you using your mouth on me.”

“On which part of you, Jack?”

“Damn it, Phryne,” he growled, “on my cock.” She shivered and had to fight the urge to climb into his lap then and there. “So… you really didn’t touch me? That part was just a dream?”

“Just a dream, I’m afraid. Though the results seem to imply that it was almost as good as the real thing.” She slid her free hand over his thigh, stopping just at the crux of his trousers. “I still want to touch you, Jack. May I?”

His breathing was beginning to rasp in his lungs. “I think, Miss Fisher,” he said, wrapping a sturdy arm around her shoulders, “that I should like to see you touch yourself instead. As you’ve already had the pleasure of seeing me… undo myself.”

It was so unexpected a response from her proper detective inspector, and so welcome, that Phryne’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “I’m happy to return the honour,” she said, her words low and throaty, “but I didn’t actually _see_ anything, you know. I just lay there and… enjoyed.”

Jack’s arm around her tightened. “Then that is what I’ll do.” He turned his head slightly to press a kiss into her raven-black hair.

Phryne bit her lip and she slid her hand beneath the waistband of her white trousers, beneath the layers of satin and silk, until she felt the curls at the apex of her thighs. She didn’t have the shelter of darkness or the peace of unconsciousness that Jack had had, but even with all the lights in the parlour on and full, she quickly lost herself in her ministrations. It was so easy to imagine that her fingers were Jack’s, especially with him there, holding her and murmuring her name as he’d done before. “Phryne… _Phryne_ …”

At first, she tried hard to bite back any sound that might alert her staff to the goings-on in the parlour, but as she drew closer and closer to her peak, the world around her faded and there was only her and Jack and her fingers… “Oh Jack,” she mewled softly, throwing her head back. His mouth found her throat and she gasped aloud.

Then a broad, long-fingered hand gently slipped down her arm to join her. He didn’t touch her sex at all, only covered her hand while she pleasured herself, but she felt her damp curls tickling his palm and his skin teasing at the edges of her hot flesh. His arm around her held her securely, and his breath was warm against her neck when she shuddered through her climax with his name on her lips. “Jack… darling Jack…” 

His free hand came up to cradle the back of her head while he kissed her with slow sweet exploratory thoroughness, while between her legs he gently gripped her fingers and withdrew them both out into the open. “Phryne…”

“Come upstairs with me, Jack?”

“Oh God, yes,” he gasped. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard, as though he and not she had just come apart in someone else’s arms. “I love you, Phryne. So much. Say it, please. Say you love me, too.” 

“I...” Phryne shook her head. “Jack...”

He looked up sharply. “But… you said it before.”

Her heart almost stopped. Oh damn it all, she _had_ said that. “I-I thought you were asleep,” she protested. “And I was half-asleep myself.”

Jack looked at her for a long, silent moment, his jaw tense and his eyes speaking more than any words could. At last, he nodded sadly, kissed her with tender lips.... and then left.


	3. Consequently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Phryne and Jack forget all about that bottle of wine.

Phryne sat in her parlour with her knees drawn up to her chest, listening to Enrico Caruso and feeling sorry for herself. She knew that Concetta Fabrizzi had eyes for her inspector. She also knew that Concetta Fabrizzi could give Jack many things that she could not. And she suspected that Jack was, at that moment, dining with Concetta Fabrizzi. 

For certain definitions of the word ‘dining.’

She stared forlornly at the chaise lounge on the opposite side of the room. Only a few days before, Jack had sat there and held her while she brought herself to blinding ecstasy, and he had been ready and eager to go upstairs with her, _finally_ … and then it had come to a crashing halt, all because Phryne Fisher, fearless and undaunted, had not been able to say three little words.

Not because it would have been a lie. But because it would have been all too true. 

“Damn the man,” she murmured. It had been almost ten years since she had been foolish enough to lose her heart, and afterward she had sworn, ‘Never again.’ For nearly a decade, she had kept that promise. And then “Call Me Jack” Robinson had stalked into her life like the territorial mutt that he was, with his rules and regulations and his fedora and his obscenely beautiful hands and a voice that could made her come all on its own. And had, though he didn’t know it. And more than once a word from his lips, a look from his eyes, that damned half-smile that he deployed so rarely, had had her racing up the stairs at a moment’s notice to fling herself on her bed and reach for her locked drawer of what the trade euphemistically called ‘lover’s aids.’ More of then than not, she didn’t even get that far. The day he’d kissed her at the cafe, she’d been too shaken to do anything that night but sleep. But the morning after? The night after? For several nights after?

That’s what Jack Robinson did to her.

Guido Carbone had been a very good kisser – she’d always had a weakness for Italians. But that was as far as she’d felt like going. And there hadn’t been time with Compton to get down to serious love-making. And before that… Phryne groaned aloud as she realized how long it had actually been since she’d fucked a man properly.

It was more than that, though... It was more. It was the look on his face when she found a clue or uncovered a missing link before he did. Not pride, that would be presumptuous of him, but admiration. It was the way his voice dropped into warm husky octaves when he was moved, by desire or humour or some soft emotion. The feel of his hand on hers as she pleasured herself. The way he lifted his whiskey to his lips, the way his lips felt on her throat. How he held a gun, how he held her... 

How he had looked when she had refused to say that she loved him. 

“God damn the man,” Phryne muttered, turning to stare at the chilly fireplace. 

She looked up indifferently when the parlour doors opened, to see Mr. Butler... and Jack. “The Inspector to see you, Miss Fisher,” said Mr. Butler, rather unnecessarily. Jack came slowly through the doors, a bottle in his hand and a not-quite-there smile on his lips. 

Phryne shifted ever so slightly in her chair, turning it into a thrown. She examined his face, his throat, his clothes, all without seemed to look. If he’d had an assignation, it had not been consummated. She could tell. She was sensitive to these things. “You’re not eating Italian tonight, Jack?”

Not the most subtle of double entendres, but as she had learned the night he’d spent in her bed, Jack was a man of hidden vulgarity under his outward decorousness. “Strano’s is closed,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving hers. 

It was an intensely erotic thing, meeting eyes with Jack. She knew he was as affected as she was, because he rarely looked her directly in the eye for this long, without some serious intention on his part. Which meant that he did, in fact, have a good reason for returning to her parlour after her enormous faux pas of the other night, and with a bottle of wine, no less. She tried to look and sound serene, and failed. “Looks like you’ll have to make do with me.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Looks like we’ll have to make do with each other.” He turned the bottle round to display the label with all the panache of a seasoned waiter, and looked at Phryne with come-hither eyes. Come-for-me eyes. 

Her vivacious grin split her face, and her toes curled in anticipation, inside her slippers. 

She rose from the chair in one fluid motion, took the bottle from his hands and dropped it safely onto a chair, then twined her arms about his neck and kissed him, slowly and blissfully. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Jack Robinson,” she said. 

His hands came to rest on the swells of her hips, and he waited. 

The words stuck in Phryne’s throat. Her heart began to race, not with passion, but with panic. Those words mean iron bars, raised voices, split lips. Isolation. The loss of the liberty she valued more than the heart or body of any man, alive or dead, including this one. But... not this one. Plain, simple, romantic, noble... Jack. 

And there were other ways of using those words. Better ways. 

She moistened her lips. “‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you,’” she said, her heart beating fit to break out of her chest and fly away. But that was a small price to pay for the expression that bloomed on Jack’s face, so purely and unabashedly happy that it brought tears to her eyes. “‘Is not that strange?’”

“‘I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest,’” Jack replied, the final words of the quotation dissolving into a deep laugh of sheer joy. To Phryne’s delight, he picked her up and carried her to the chaise lounge. 

“Jack! I have a perfectly—mmm... You had _some_ Italian food tonight, at any rate... I have a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”

“We started this dance here, and we’re going to finish it here.”

“...No, we started it in my bed.”

“But here,” Jack said, very seriously, kneeling on the chaise, not quite hovering over her, “both our eyes were open.”

She pulled him down by his tie and kissed him. He was a delightful kisser, and now that she had said the words in some form or other, he seemed unleashed in the most gentle ways. She had expected him to ravish her (with her permission, naturally), but her declaration had calmed him. He laved his tongue over each newly revealed patch of skin as her clothes came off, and then relinquished control and let her roll him onto his back so that she could do the same. 

“I still want to touch you,” Phryne reminded him, after she had thrown his underpants to some indeterminate part of the room. 

“And I want to feel you,” he rumbled, breathing heavily as he watched her descend.

Phryne slicked her fingers in her mouth and then applied them delicately to the wide head of his cock, and smiled to see his Adam’s apple bob so impatiently. She pressed a dainty kiss to the smooth, petal-soft skin, and smiled again when his breath hitched. She parted her lips and took him in her mouth, just the tip at first, then a little more, then a little more... 

“Oh, Jesus _fuck_ , Phryne!”

She hummed delightedly around his shaft. _Oh good, he’s just as uninhibited awake as asleep..._

He was big enough that speed was out of the question, but the rapt, adoring look in his eyes told Phryne that he didn’t mind her needing to go slow. So she took her time, using her mouth as much as she could and her hands for the rest. The fingers of one of Jack’s hands were tangled in her hair, flexing on her scalp as she bobbed up and down on his cock; the other alternately gripped her shoulder and smoothed down the back of it, as far as he could reach. “Phryne... yes... oh God, yes... please, I’m— _please._ ”

 _I can’t bite his ear from down here... pity..._ Instead, she stretched a beseeching hand up his chest, a wordless command. _Come for me, Jack Robinson._

His thighs trembled beneath her hands like the strings of a piano being struck, and he spilled into her mouth with a long, low, wordless cry. Phryne kept her lips round his cock for as long as she could, tonguing the little slit to hear Jack’s gasps like tiny sips of air. 

After a moment or two, he looked down at her, trying to focus. The hand in her hair went to her cheek, stroking. He looked at her with eyes as dark and soft as bird’s wings. “Up,” he whispered, tugging at her shoulder. She stretched both arms towards him, rocking forward. Jack twisted her beneath him and kissed her lips, tasting her with the slow patient reverence of a man receiving a sacrament. He moved his mouth in soft whispers down her throat and over her clavicle, and scraped his callused palms lightly over her hard nipples as the rest of him moved downward. 

Phryne exhaled a high little sigh and opened her thighs for him. He had not touched her before, he had only helped her touch herself, but he had learned from her movements what she liked. He parted the lips of her sex and breathed on her. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Nothing too hard, nothing too fast, nothing that spoke of intrusion or of an intention to overmaster her. Just soft, steady strokes of his fingers and tongue, and soft lips and teeth against the powdery inner skin of her thighs. 

Suddenly she fisted her hands in his hair. “Close,” she panted, when he looked up in concern. Then she smiled at the gleam of pride in his eyes. “Up,” she ordered. He crawled over her. She grasped his shoulders. “Over.”

Jack slid obediently off the chaise. Phryne rose and he took her place, settling on his back. Strong arms wrapped around her hips and steadied her as she came to rest astride him. She reached down and guided him into her dripping folds, and gasped sharply. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Phryne assured him, a little breathlessly. 

“Are you... not wet enough?”

She smoothed her hands up his lean stomach and ghosted them down his ribs. The muscles rippled under her fingernails. “It’s just been some time.”

“…Really?”

“Really.” She leaned over and caught his lips in her own, trusting in his broad sturdy hands to guide her down slowly. She stretched around his thick cock, taking him inch by slow inch until her rump nestled against his balls. She bowed over Jack, out of breath, not kissing him but so close that her hair brushed his cheekbones. He gazed up at her in wonderment. 

Someone moved, and the motion forced a low guttural moan from Phryne’s lips. Jack’s hands slid up to press flat on either side of her spine, and they moved together almost without seeming to move. A twitch here, a grind, fingers digging into flesh. Phryne flattened herself on top of him, straining, each small hungry motion rubbing her clit desperately against his belly and pushing his cock over and over into the sweet warm spot inside her. Jack’s hands were in her hair again and Phryne’s face was in the space between his neck and shoulder. 

She sobbed into his skin when she came, not as a crashing force of sated lust, but first as a ripple and then as a wave, a pulse that only grew stronger as she started to fall. She was already shaking when Jack suddenly pushed hard into her and cried out her name, and his orgasm sent her spiraling again. 

“Damn you, Jack Robinson,” she whispered, her voice very unsteady when she found speech again. “I love you. I love you. ...Damn you, I love you.”

All Jack could do was laugh, with what little breath was left in his body. He was as shaken as she was. “A bit easier to say now?” he asked, brushing her damp hair from her face. 

“Like this? Yes. Elsewhere... I don’t know.” Phryne kissed his lips, then the little dip above them, and then pushed herself up and off of him. Jack hissed through his teeth and cupped a hand around his wet, half-spent cock to protect it from the cold air. 

Phryne took his other hand and carefully drew him to his feet. “I could say it in bed,” she told him, with a casual sort of flirtatiousness that she had used on him before and would never mean the same thing again. “And there’s a fire laid in my boudoir. Come to bed with me, Jack.”

“Anywhere,” he promised. 

She threw open the parlour doors and he followed her into the hall and up the stairs. 

Neither of them particularly cared that they were naked.


	4. Eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne has questions for Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some… interesting tags, which should give you some hints about where future chapters are going. Which is straight into the gutter. This one’s fairly tame though. ...Fairly.

“Jack.” Phryne traced her fingers delicately through Jack’s sparse damp chest hair. “Jack. Jaaack.”

“Yes?” he replied, his eyes closed and his voice a paragon of strained politeness. 

“You never answered my question, the other night.”

“Which other night would that be, Miss Fisher? The memory of all other nights seems to have been eclipsed from my memory.” 

She smirked proudly and flicked her tongue over his nipple.

“Nngh... Phryne. What is it?”

“How many lovers have you had in your life?”

“None that measured up to what we just did.”

“Jack. I’m serious.”

He cracked one pale-lashed eye at her. Phryne had raised herself up on one hip to study him. Her normally smooth cap of black hair was tousled and wild, her lipstick had long since ended up on various parts of him, and her small breasts bore a number of red marks that had nothing at all to do with makeup. Jack reached out lazily and brushed the back of his finger across one of the tender marks his lips had left. “I already answered your question.”

“No. You simply admitted to having known more women than only your wife.”

“Which is true. I’ve always believed in sticking to one woman at a time.”

“Who was your first?”

He opened his other eye, and cupped her breast in his hand. “Who was yours?” he murmured, rubbing rhythmic little circles over her pebbling nipple. 

Phryne smiled, biting her lower lip invitingly. “You tell me and I’ll tell you.”

“Lucy Clayton. She was a laundry maid at my uncle’s house.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen and an idiot. She was nineteen and... well, knew what she was doing.”

“And was it true love?”

Jack huffed out a laugh. “No. She was pretty, and I was... sixteen. Infatuated. Eventually I suppose she decided to take pity on me. It was only once, up against the stable wall, of all places.”

Phryne arched herself slightly into his hand, picturing a teenaged Jack, with a smooth face and soft limbs, pressing eager unpracticed sloppy kisses to the mouth of a pretty servant girl while he fumbled under her skirt. “And?”

“And? We fucked. Or rather, she fucked herself on me. We both enjoyed ourselves, and then a week later she left my uncle’s house to go and get married.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’d fantasized about her for months, and then she was gone.”

Phryne leaned down to kiss him. “She made you cautious.”

“No, she just made me need to work myself off before I could sleep for almost two weeks. Julia Atkins made me cautious.” He pulled her against his chest and buried his nose and mouth in her hair. His hand was still on her breast, his fingers rolling her nipple back and forth into a thoughtful peak. 

“And Julia Atkins was...?”

“Mmm... you made the rules, Phryne. Your first?”

“A lovely young lord, the second son of a duke and a highly eligible bachelor. I was seventeen, he was twenty-one—in fact, it was the night of his twenty-first birthday party. It was horribly dull, so we decided to slip away to the conservatory...” Phryne hummed in pleased reminiscence. “Our fathers wanted us to marry.”

“And your lovely young lord?”

“Hated the idea as much as I did. But he was a beautiful man, and generous, and very instructive, and I was—seventeen,” Phryne shrugged, “and not especially innocent.”

“Did this beautiful young son of a duke have a name?”

“He did, and does. But I’m not sharing it with you,” she teased, snuggling down and kissing the very top of his top lip. “He might come to visit someday, and I don’t want you to be jealous.”

Jack brushed his knuckles across her cheekbone. “And what have I to be jealous of now?” he asked softly. He stretched his neck, trying to deepen the kiss, but Phryne bobbed playfully out of his way. 

“Your turn. Julia Atkins.”

“Ugh...” He let out a loud huff. Whatever the memory was, it clearly still rankled. “Julia Atkins was a beautiful blond busty girl who my friend Alec Wallace had been stepping out with for a while. It was while we were both at the Police Academy. Julia and Alec had a row and they broke off, rather nastily. He left her crying in front of the pub.”

“Oh dear,” said Phryne. “I think I see where this was going. And Julia threw herself on your noble mercies?”

“She walked out with me for three weeks, although with did far less walking and far more tumbling than I care to remember. But she made out like I was the best man God had ever seen fit to create, and I admit, I let it go to my head. Then Alec and I had a punch-up over her, and the long and the short of it was that Julia and Alec went back to stepping out together, leaving me in the lurch with a black eye and a very bruised heart.” He relinquished Phryne’s breast, much to her disappointment... but then moved it to her backside, which consoled her, especially when he squeezed it. “Your turn.”

“Hmm, who should I tell you about next?” She tapped her chin. “It’s a very long list, I admit, but you’d be surprised how many of them aren’t worth talking about.”

“Or remembering?” Jack grinned. 

Phryne shook her head. “I remember all of them, whether I want to or not. Thankfully, I’m very happy to remember most of them.” Jack squeezed her buttock again, and she moaned. “But not right now... I could tell you about Lin.”

“I think I know all I care to about Mr. Lin,” said Jack dryly. “I forfeit this round.”

“In that case...” Phryne slid a hand down his chest and belly, pricking her fingernails lightly at the tender skin beneath his pubic hair and snuggling her knee between his thighs. “Tell me about Concetta.”

He shifted and tried not to grind against her. “What about her?”

“You didn’t sleep with her last night.”

“I did not. I wouldn’t have come to you on the same night.”

“Very gentlemanly of you, Jack,” Phryne teased. “Have you ever slept with her?”

“Why do you want to know? Idle curiosity?”

“You care about her, Jack. You care _for_ her. She’s not going to disappear from your life just because you couldn’t marry her.” 

“...When did I tell you about that?”

“Oh, at some point last night. Somewhere between you taking me from behind so hard I could feel your cock all the way up my spine, and me using my mouth on your balls and my finger in your—“

Jack growled and flipped her onto her back. “You promised not to talk about that in the morning,” he rumbled, his arms tense on either side of her head and the cords of his neck taut. 

Phryne stretched up and nuzzled her nose against his. “I want to know because it will make a difference when we see her again.”

“...Yes,” he husked, lowering his eyes. “I’m not proud of that night.”

“Why not? If you and she both... it was while you were still married to Rosie, wasn’t it.”

He nodded. “She’d moved out about a year before I was assigned to investigate the Fabrizzi murder. I spent a lot of time at Strano’s, talking about the case, trying to pin down a suspect, learning about the Italian community in Melbourne... Concetta had the most time to spend with the helpful cop, especially in the evenings, when her grandfather was in the office doing the books and her brother was out with friends. One night... we both forgot ourselves.”

“You were both lonely,” Phryne tried to soothe him. “There’s no shame in that.” She tangled her hand in his tousled wavy hair and pulled him down for a kiss. “I’m glad you had someone, even if it was only briefly.” She smiled against his lips and canted her pelvis up, so that her slick cunt rubbed at his shaft. “I knew I liked her.”

“Mmm... so you wouldn’t be averse to having dinner there again?”

“Eventual— _oh_ ,” she groaned as he sank deep into her. “Eventually.”


	5. Literarily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack questions Phryne's taste in reading material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! ;)
> 
> May the gods forgive me for the terrible terrible smutfic-inside-a-smutfic.

They couldn’t stay in bed forever, as they realized at some point around half-past eleven, when Mr. Butler gently knocked on the door and asked permission to restore last night’s garments (now washed and pressed, as appropriate) to their rightful owners. Jack promptly scrambled to cover himself with every blanket he could lay his hands on. Phryne only rolled her eyes at him and dragged the fur throw over her lusciously wrecked body. “All decent, Mr. Butler!”

The old man slipped in with his arms full of clothes and a placid smile on his face. “Good morning, Miss Fisher, Inspector.” He deposited the clothing neatly on the bureau. “Dorothy was wondering if breakfast would be welcome at this hour.”

As if on cue, Jack’s stomach rumbled an affirmative. He looked everywhere but at Phryne as he felt his ears turning red. 

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” said Phryne solemnly, smothering her giggles, “but I think a substantial luncheon might be far more appreciated.”

“Very good, miss.” He studied his employer’s air of sated debauchery and Jack’s tousled hair and flushed face. “Chicken à la normande, perhaps? With a gratin of potatoes?”

“Just the ticket, I think,” Phryne returned, sliding a grin in Jack’s direction. “In the meantime, we’ll just...” She made a vague little gesture with one hand, the other being occupied in clutching the fur to her bosom. “Put ourselves to rights.”

Mr. Butler nodded his agreement, smiled beatifically on all and sundry, and withdrew, closing the bedroom door gently. As soon as it clicked, Jack dove face first into the pillows. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again,” he groaned. 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Jack.” Insidious fingers found the ticklish spot at the nape of his neck. Jack yelped and twisted round to glare at her. Phryne merely leveled a calm look at her new lover. “I’m serious. I’ve never seen him so pleased to discover who I spent the night with! It’s not every man who gets an offer of his favorite lunch right on the spot.”

Jack’s stomach had to concede that she had a point. 

Phryne bounded up from the bed, leaving the fur throw behind and giving Jack a wonderful look at her naked back and buttocks as she strolled across the sun-dappled room to where a Japanese screen hid her bathtub. “Care to join me?” she smiled, pausing with one hand on the screen. 

“Uh...” Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair and wondered how he could possibly still be capable of having an erection. “As much as I’d love to, we probably won’t make it downstairs in time for lunch if I do.”

“I see where your priorities are,” Phryne said dryly, giving him a fond once-over before she slipped behind the screen. “In that case, you don’t get to watch.”

Now that _was_ a loss, Jack admitted to himself, after he’d listened to her humming as she ran the water, and to the little sparkling sound of bath salts being dropped in. But her taunting moans of “Oh, how _lovely_ this is, Jack!” were far too over the top to take seriously, and he rolled his eyes heavenward and looked about for something to do in the meantime. Preferably, something to read. 

He knew Phryne was a well-read woman, although their choice of subject matter tended to differ wildly. She had a good collection of books on criminology and forensics in the downstairs parlour, and he hoped that she might have a similar taste in nighttime reading, but the only book he spotted in the room was a slim volume with an innocuous-looking cloth binding, lying on her nightstand. He rolled over and grabbed it. A skim of the title page told him little; the title “The Serpent’s Touch” meant nothing to him, but the lack of an author did. 

_Fantastic,_ he thought, rather ruefully, _the first of what I’d hoped to be many nights in Phryne Fisher’s company is going to end with me having to arrest her for the possession of indecent publications._

Of course he was going to do nothing of the kind, but it might be fun to tease her with the possibility. Jack steeled himself and opened the little violet book to a random page. 

_“I never meant to hurt you.”_

_“To hurt me? No. But to forget me? That, I think you intended.”_

_“I did not—“ Veronica insisted, but even she heard the desperation in her voice._

_“You did not want to remember all that we shared,” Ricardo snapped, “because you were afraid.”_

_“I have never been afraid of you, Ricardo.”_

_His dark eyes burned._

_He crushed Veronica beneath him, ravaging her mouth and tearing at her nightclothes. His desire crashed over her like a wave of fire, igniting her blood, and she clawed at the thick brown cloth that kept his skin from hers, wanting him, **needing** him, and nothing else mattered except taking him inside her and devouring him whole._

Well that wasn’t that bad, so far. A little melodramatic, perhaps, but then again, books like this were called ‘bodice-rippers’ for a reason… 

_The candles turned his body to gold and his eyes to coals. His lean hands gripped her tight enough to bruise, and all about him was light and life. He tangled his hands in her brown hair. Veronica pressed her palm to his groin, cupping him hard. He growled into her mouth, and the sound was delicious. Her palm slipped up and down his hard manhood. Ricardo took her wrist, brought her hand up to their faces. His burning eyes never left hers, as he licked his juices from her hand and then kissed her hungrily, opening his mouth so that she could taste him._

Jack swallowed a groan and moved his free hand away from his cock, where it had mysteriously wandered while he was reading. 

_He twisted her onto her stomach and fell upon her, nipping at the sensitive places along her shoulders and back, drawing his fingers tantalizingly up the line of her buttocks. Veronica rocked back against his hand, moaning._

From behind the screen came a low, “Oh, _Jack_ …” That moan was not at all play-acting. He pressed his lips together tightly.

_He took her as she had always wanted him to, hard and deep, so suddenly that it jerked a cry from her throat that was as much of shock as it was of delight. His hard chest rasped at her back as he bent over her; his lips whispered taunts to her vertebrae. “No one else could love you like this. Only me.”_

“‘Only me,’” Jack murmured, curling his fingers around his cock. 

_Veronica whimpered, pushing back against him. He fit inside her in all ways as he had always done, as though created for that one purpose. He pulled her up onto her knees, his hot chest against her sweating back, and she could feel every one of his thrusts travel up her spine like a blade._

_His fingers rubbed against her wetness and she came hard, but he did not stop, ripping orgasm after orgasm from her body until she would have collapsed, but for his arms around her._

Jack was having trouble keeping the book steady, but the images in his mind were crystal-clear, and the more he imagined himself and Phryne as the characters in the book, the harder and faster he worked his cock. 

_She gasped and shuddered, unable to move her limbs. Through the haze, she heard his soft chuckle. “I always could outlast you,” he reminded her, soothing her back where his kisses had rubbed it raw._

_Ricardo laid her down gently, so that they were chest to chest, and slipped inside her, resting between her thighs as one who belonged there._

He dropped the book over the side of the bed and threw his head back, pressing down on his balls with the heel of his hand, pumping his cock. His breath was coming sharp and shallow and he was so, so close...

Suddenly there was a weight on top of him, a warm wet utterly feminine weight, shoving his hands away and spearing herself on him so hard it tore the orgasm from him. He let out a hoarse guttural cry of joy that might have been her name.

When his vision returned to him, Jack looked up and found Phryne still straddling his hips. She had her hands planted on his chest, and she was grinning quietly at him. “I’m so glad you like my taste in literature, darling. There’s so much more where that came from.”


	6. Automatically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phryne gets bored on a stakeout. Jack tries to be professional. And fails.

Jack peered intently through his binoculars. Phryne huddled against his back and put her chin on his shoulder. After a moment or two, she sighed. 

“This is the most boring stakeout I’ve ever been on.” 

“No one asked you to come, Miss Fisher.” 

“Yes, you did, Jack.” 

“No, I asked if you would be kind enough to bring me supper on your way to your usual Saturday night of debauchery, not ‘please sneak around to the other side of my car and hide there until Mr. Butler drives away.” 

“It’s not my fault you were too interested in Dot’s chicken pie to notice me. I’m dressed quite nicely, don’t you think?”

He glanced backward. “From what I can see of it, you certainly are, but then you’re always dressed quite nicely. Rather over-nicely for police work, in my opinion.” 

“Are you complaining?”

“Not in the slightest.” His lips curved slightly. “You’re much warmer and more pleasant to have in my backseat than the company I usually get on stakeouts.” That earned him a pleased hum and a kiss on the cheek from Phryne, who seemed very comfortable cuddled against his back and not at all inclined to actually _do_ any police work. 

It was… nice, Jack decided. There hadn’t yet been any sort of serious talk about what they were doing or where they were going, and he was surprisingly content with the situation. He probably wouldn’t stay that way… and neither would she. But nothing felt rushed or off-handed or casual about what had passed between them. Nothing felt _temporary_. It gave him courage. 

“The night’s probably a bust,” he admitted, after another twenty minutes of staring at the warehouse through binoculars and seeing nothing but fog and the occasional rat. “There’s no one to be seen. But I’ve been ordered to remain on watch until dawn.” He sighed and looked apologetically at his companion. “There’s no need for you to waste your Saturday night.”

Phryne’s smile warmed him through and through. “Jack. I wasn’t planning to waste it.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly, then wriggled her way over his thigh and dropped neatly between his spread legs and the back of the driver’s seat. “Let’s see if I can’t relieve us of our mutual boredom, hmm?”

He suspected, from her position, what her idea of ‘relieving boredom’ was going to be, but when he felt her hands on the fly of his trousers, he understood precisely and viscerally what was going to happen next—his cock hardened so fast, the diversion of blood away from his brain almost caused him to pass out. But for the sake of his official position and his orders, which he was duty-bound to obey, he brought the binoculars back up to his eyes and stared very firmly at the uninteresting warehouse. 

The cool air inside the car hit the skin of his more sensitive parts and made him shiver, then Phryne’s warm hand curled around him and made him swallow hard, and then finally her soft hot lips closed around his shaft, her tongue swirled lovingly over his swollen head, and it was all Jack could do not to slide into a boneless heap right there in the backseat. 

“Christ Almighty,” he panted, his muscles straining to keep the rest of him upright. Phryne just chuckled around him and, delicately, scraped her teeth along the sensitive underside of his cock. Jack let out a strangled whine and jammed the binoculars harder against his eye sockets. _This is a distraction. You’re on duty. You should be annoyed by the distraction. …But it’s such a **competent** distraction…_ She tugged insistently at his clothes. Jack lifted his hips and let her pull his suit trousers and his undershorts down, and then had no choice but to let the binoculars and the stakeout and duty fall to the wayside, because she had taken him deep, deep into her throat and now her chin was nuzzling his balls. Helpless, he combed his hands through her fine black hair. 

When she drew back he almost sobbed. “Fuck, Phryne, please,” he gasped, because he knew she liked it when he cursed. “Put your mouth back on me, _please…_ ”

“Jack, darling,” she purred, running her hands soothingly up and down the insides of his thighs. His muscles began to spasm from the strain of holding back his climax. He slumped further and spread his legs, breathing more heavily. 

He almost jumped when he felt her fingers, wet and slippery, stroking behind his testicles. “You’re not serious,” he groaned, but inching closer to her hand. “You actually brought…?”

“Vaseline. Marvelous stuff.” She licked a hard stripe up his cock. 

“ _Oh_ fuck…”

“I do like to be prepared…” Gently she felt for and found his arsehole, probing it with tiny motions that sent sweet hot sparks over Jack’s skin and made his cock jerk madly against her cheek. He fisted his hand in her hair once and then forced himself to relax. “And you do so enjoy when I do this…” She slowly sunk one slim finger, then two, inside him. Jack keened aloud. “Even if you hate to admit it,” Phryne added, kissing the crease between his hip and thigh before returning her lips to his cock. 

There was no thought of duty now, no thought of officialdom and obligations to the enforcement of law. He was aware of nothing else in the world, only Phryne’s wet hot clever mouth on his cock and her wicked fingers slicking in and out of his arse, touching him in places and ways he hadn’t know were possible only a week or two before. When he came, he shouted so loudly he had to muffle his mouth in his hat.

She rose with a smug look on her now-naked lips and moved to straddle his waist. “This is _highly_ unprofessional, Miss Fisher,” he said, breathlessly stern, in a half-hearted attempt to scold her. It didn’t work, of course. She kissed him fiercely so that he could know again what he tasted like on her tongue.

“Indeed it is, Detective Inspector,” she purred, as his hands slipped underneath her skirt. 

He encountered only bare skin, and chuckled. “No knickers? It’s as if you anticipated the outcome of this evening,” he teased. Phryne smirked and then let out a deliciously indecent moan when his searching fingers found her wet and ready for him. 

“I told you, Inspector,” she laughed, her voice hitching in her chest. “I like to be prepared.”

She ground down on his softening cock and he hardened again at once. He leaned back against the seat and groaned deep in his chest. “God, I love it when you do that,” he growled, the faint lights from the docks allowing him to watch her take his cock in hand to guide him inside her. She wrapped her knees around his hips and her arms around his neck and proceeded to ride him, hard, counting on Jack’s body to not be nearly done dealing with the sensations she had built up, and he was almost ready to explode inside her again when— “Ow!”

“I heard that,” Jack gasped, catching hold of her. “Are you all right?”

Phryne rubbed her head and looked pitiful… as pitiful as a woman could look, with her hair and makeup askew and her face flushed and hungry. “Yes… I just startled myself. …Why don’t you take the lead?”

He settled her round him again and kissed her slowly, wrapping his hands around her hips and guiding her movements. Then, unable to help himself, he started laughing. “What a fine seductress you make,” he teased, smoothing her hair gently. “Can’t even shag a policeman in his own car without knocking your head on the ceiling.”

In return for his laughing, she nipped his neck with rather more force than fondness. “The next time I make love in a car,” she grumbled, hooking her feet around his calves for more leverage, “it will be in the Hispano. Closed cars are such a nuisance.” 

Jack chuckled darkly and dug his fingers into her backside. “The next time I make love to you in a car—and there _will_ be a next time,” he vowed, “it will be in a nice roomy saloon car with an enormous backseat, so that I can _fuck_ —” He punctuated the word with a sharp thrust that made Phryne whimper and tense around him. “—you properly.”


End file.
